


The Shards of Us

by HomuraBakura



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Guilt, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-29
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 16:58:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7900639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomuraBakura/pseuds/HomuraBakura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We're broken, laying in the shards of our own shattered hearts.  But maybe if you pick up a few of my pieces, and I a few of yours, we can start to cobble ourselves back together again?" </p><p>Shiro and Allura travel to a small cabin on Earth in the middle of nowhere to find a small oasis of peace for a while.</p><p>- a series of oneshots for Shallura Week 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt 1 - Discovery
> 
> Allura is pleased to discover that the Earth is more familiar to her than she expected.

“I had no idea Earth was so.... _green_.”

The way her eyes sparkle in the sunlight rivals the very sky itself, and he finds himself lost there for a brief moment. He only blinks free when her eyes turn towards him, and that shining smile grows over her face.

“Well, it is in some places,” Shiro says, leaning on the railing of the balcony, quickly turning his eyes towards the great sprawling expanse of the meadows. “I actually grew up in a desert. Not much green there.”

Her shoulders shudder with a light delight as she turns her gaze back to the flowered fields. Her hair dances in the breeze around her shoulders, getting caught in the knit of the black sweater that Shiro had lent her. She had said that she wanted to blend in while she's here, and that meant wearing human clothes instead of her normal Altean dress. The sweater is a little too big for her, almost dwarfing her shoulders, leaking over her knuckles.

“There are so many places I've never seen or heard of,” she whispers. “I can't believe I never knew that there was another place as green and...and as alive as...”

He hears the catch in her voice, and he's already putting a hand on her shoulder as she raises one hand to cover her mouth. He slides the arm over her shoulders and automatically she leans into him, lets her head sag over his shoulder.

He almost reaches for her hand with his other arm, but the slide of his metal joints makes him hesitate.

She takes the last step for him, taking his metallic hand without even a breath of hesitation, curling her fingers into it. He can actually feel her hand against his—this prosthetic, with as many bad memories as it contains, is certainly far beyond anything human science had achieved. He's just glad that she doesn't flinch from it.

He can feel her tears leaking into his shoulder, and he holds her closer to him, feels her shoulders shake under his hand.

“I'm sorry,” he mumbles. “I didn't mean to...bring back...bad memories.”

“Oh...oh Shiro...”

She wipes at her eyes with the back of her free hand. Then she places her hand, warm, soft, against his cheek, and turns her to face him. Her eyes are shining, with tears, with wonder, with happiness.

“These aren't bad memories,” she says. “They're the best ones.”

Her breath tickles his lips as she leans closer, eyes closing.

“Thank you so much.”

 


	2. Tradition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro thinks it might rain, and share a tradition from his grandmother to try and keep the sun shining.

She wakes up with a faint grogginess and tears in her eyes, though she can't remember why she cried them. Her hair is in her eyes and clouding around her head as she tries to lift her head off of the back of the recliner. She never knew a chair could be this plush, could cradle her so easily. All the chairs she had known were hard and straight-backed—she likes this human invention.

She rubs her eyes clear with the backs of her hands as she fumbles with the lever to push the chair back to a sitting position. From here, she can see the tiny cabin kitchen through the open archway between that room and the single living room/bedroom.

Shiro sits at the rickety table, his elbows on top. It makes the table sag towards him on its uneven leg, but he doesn't seem to notice the uncertain positioning. He's pulling tissue around a ball of more tissue, his fingers lithe and dextrous as he wraps yarn beneath the ball of tissue. He ties it off with one hand—his still human hand, the little ball with the tail of tissue resting in his metal hand.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

Her voice carries across the kitchen without a sound, and Shiro looks up. He ducks his eyes so that his white hank of hair droops over his left eye, making that tiny quirk of a smile that always softens every line in his face.

“It looks like it might rain,” he says. “And we were thinking of taking a walk this evening so that you could see the rest of the fields, so I...force of habit, I guess.”

He laughs softly, a nervous, uncertain sound. She pushes herself to her feet. It takes a moment for the room to stop spinning from the change in elevation, but when she's stable, she walks over the creaking floor to the table, leaning over to see what he's doing.

He's drawn a little dot-eyed face on the ball part of the little ghost shape. It even has a smile. Curious, she wraps her fingers around the head, and he lets her take it from his hand. There's a string on top, and she dangles the little creature from her fingers, letting it spin slightly.

“It's so...cute,” she says. “What is it?”

His smile is a little bigger this time—nostalgic, a warm golden edge to it that makes the sun shine in her heart.

“It's a teru-teru bozu,” he says. “My grandmother used to make them.”

“Teru-teru bozu,” Allura repeats, testing out the word, rolling it around her mouth and over her tongue. She likes the taste of it. “What is it for?”

“See, look,” he says.

He takes the string from her hand and walks over to the window. He loops the yarn over the lock at the top of the window, so that the little doll can dangle in front of the window. It looks ghostly outlined in the light of the world outside, a world framed in the soft swirls of gray clouds.

“You hang them up like this, and they're supposed to keep the rain away,” he says.

She cocks her head, considering the little doll. She has never heard of such a ritual before, but perhaps it was an Earthling technology?

“Does it work?”

He laughs.

“Maybe it's just wishful thinking,” he said. “I just...it was just a tradition from my grandmother. It's a little silly, I know...”

She moves forward, slides her arm around his so that she can rest her chin on his shoulder. He briefly tenses in that way he does when she touches him for the first time—his soldier's instincts making him flinch. But he immediately relaxes, and his other hand slides around to rest on top of her hand.

“I like it,” she whispers. “Will you tell me more of your grandmother's traditions?”

The smile that breaks over his face is perhaps one of the clearest she has ever seen him make, and she thinks, this must be what it's like when the sun breaks through the clouds before a rainstorm.

 


	3. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Allura remembers the past and starts to wonder if it's okay for her to be happy in this moment.

“It's just so long. Maybe I should cut it, like Pidge.”

“No, don't do that.”

“You just like to play with it.”

He smiles as he runs his fingers through her hair, half braiding it on the top. Her hair is much softer and finer than any human hair he's ever felt; it's like each strand is made of satin. It bunches and flows pleasingly under his fingers, at once holding together and sliding like silk. He wonders if all Alteans had hair as fine and beautiful as hers, or if she was an uncommon beauty among them as well.

“I can stop if you want.”

She leans back against his knees and actually lets out a faint, joking growl.

“Takashi Shirogane, don't you _dare_ stop.”

“Are you using your mom voice on me?”

She leans back slightly so that she can look up at him, her eyes sparkling and her face bright with a mischievous smile.

“I might be.”

He grins back at her—then takes advantage of his position to lean down and kiss her on the forehead.

“You little sneak,” she says with a laugh, but she reaches her hands up around his neck to keep him leaning over her, their noses touching. She smiles when the heat rises to his cheeks—they have never remained this close together before, their faces inches apart. He thinks he could kiss her like this. Do Alteans do things like kissing? They seem so similar to humans, but sometimes, the differences strike him at the odd moments, things he wouldn't have expected. Like when she sets the table in an odd, circular arrangement, or the way that she seems so mortified when he puts flowers into vases instead of leaving them in the fields where they should be.

“Do humans kiss?” she asks before he can, her breath whispering over his face, tickling his scar.

He finds her eyes—they are so clear. So beautiful. Her lips are parted slightly and he wants to—he really wants to.

“They do,” he whispers. “When they...when both people want to.”

“Do you want to?”

 _Yes_. Yes, he does.

“Do you?” he asks instead, feeling his heart thrum up into his throat.

She answers by leaning back a little further so that her lips can meet his.

He can tell that she's never done this before. She's hesitant—nervous, even, as though she's ready to pull back immediately if she has to. He has a little more experience, but there's something in him that—that holds back. It's like, somehow, he's afraid of...hurting her.

When they break apart, he can't tell if she's disappointed or not. He can't tell if _he's_ disappointed or not. He's not sure if he should ask if he did it wrong. Maybe Alteans kiss differently. Maybe he's just...disappointing.

She leans forward quickly, so that she's sitting against his knees again. He can't see her eyes anymore. Her head hunches forward as her knees draw up towards her stomach. Has he offended her?

“I'm...I'm sorry,” he says.

She hiccups, dragging a hand over her mouth for a moment. It takes her a second to be able to speak.

“Oh, gods, Shiro...no, you don't...have to apologize...”

Her shoulders are shaking and he reaches forward to put his hands on them, feeling every tremble run up through his own arms.

“I just—I remembered home again,” she says between half, muffled sobs. “Back there I would have—I don't know if this would have been—would father be upset with me?”

“Allura...Allura, no...”

He slides off of the couch so that he can hold her, and her hands drag up on top of his arms, pressing them tightly against her—willing him not to let go.

“I just keep thinking,” she mumbles. “Were I still a princess of Altea....this wouldn't be possible. I'd—I'd have a duty to—to marry someone important, for the sake of my dynasty, and this....and this couldn't happen.”

For a moment it feels like she is going to try and drag herself away from him, and he loosens his grip in case she wants to disappear. But then she turns around in his arms so that she can press her face against his neck.

“And for a moment I—I was _happy_ that I was here instead of there—I was _happy_ that I didn't have that duty anymore and I—gods, Shiro, I'm—I'm a horrible, horrible person—”

He wraps his arms around her and twines his hand into her soft, soft hair, pressing her to him. Tears run from his own cheeks to match the ones that soak into his neck.

“Then I'm horrible too,” he mumbles. “Because...because I was happy that you were here with me too—even though that meant...that meant that you had everything else taken from you.”

“Shiro,” she whispers. “Shiro, Shiro, Shiro.”

His name, over and over, mumbled into his skin like its her chant, her talisman. He strokes his hand through her hair and presses his face to the side of hers, trying to still his own tears.

What right did they have to be so happy here?

 


	4. Distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a space between them across the bed--barely a foot, but it might as well have been light years.
> 
> What right does she have to be happy, when it took her ten thousand years and the death of her race and home to arrive in this moment?

There is a space between them—it's barely even a foot, but it feels like a mile. He has fallen asleep in tears again, and she can see the diamond glimmer at the corners of his eyes. One tear trails and traces down the scar across his face, and she wants to reach out and wipe it away. The distance to his face seems too far, so she does not.

She traces the scar instead with her eyes. She asked once where it came from. Like so many other things, he didn't remember. His eyes had taken that tight, nervous glaze they always did when he thought about the year he had lost. The mixture of desperation and fear and a sickness in the stomach—desperation to know what had happened, and desperation to pretend that it hadn't.

She hadn't asked again.

She puts her hand on the pillow beside her face. Inches from his face—a lightyear of distance. There is only one bed in this tiny cabin, and it folds out of the couch. Shiro had ducked his head with a cute, light blush dusting his cheeks as he stammered something about how he could sleep on the floor, with a sleeping bag. He had had worse, he had always said. Much, much worse.

She had convinced him to sleep across from her anyway.

The distance hadn't closed since the first night they had slept beside each other. At least this time they're facing each other...

His breath catches in his sleep, and she sees his fingers—metal, smooth—curl into the sheets. She slides her fingers closer, then back again. She wants to put her fingers into his. She doesn't know if he wants it back. After what she said...after how she told him that if she had her world back, they wouldn't have been possible...perhaps he is hurting as much as she is just thinking about it. Hurting to remember how he had to suffer through a year of imprisonment and torture to come to a place where he could meet her. Hurting in the same way she is when she thought that, even if her planet were whole and safe, he would have been ten thousand years away from her.

_If we had had happier lives, we would not have met._

She can't decide if she wants her happy life back, or if she wants to be here, lying beside him.

No. It's not that she can't decide.

It's that she doesn't want to admit that sometimes she thinks the pain was worth meeting him.

Tears fill her eyes, and his face becomes a blur. She presses her hand to her face, covering just one eye and pressing hard into her eyelid so that little lights dance across the backs of her eyelid. Gods, how can she even think that? How dare she—how dare she be happy here, how dare she think that it's okay for her to be happy that she found her way here, when her entire people, her _planet_ died so that she could make it to this moment?

She doesn't deserve this.

She doesn't deserve any of this.

And yet—

She still wants to cross that distance, take his hand and draw it towards her, press it to herself and feel his warmth against her skin. She still wants him.

Her fingers crawl their way across the space—dragging themselves the lightyears to his hand. She barely brushes his fingers. His eyes flutter—he must have been sleeping lighter then she thought.

His fingers curl almost instinctively into hers. Is he awake, or asleep?

She's not sure.

But her hand is finally in his. Across ten thousand years. Across millions of lightyears.

His hand found hers.

 


	5. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's going to rain soon. Allura's never seen rain before; Shiro wonders what she'll think.

The breeze is thick and cool with rain, he can taste it on his tongue. Their teru-teru bozu dance in the wind from where they dangle on the canopy of the porch, but it doesn't seem like they're going to chase the rain away this time.

“I don't mind,” Allura says from the loveseat beside him. Her hair washes over his shoulders, and he wonders if she wants to put her head on his shoulder. He knows he wants her to. He also wants to put his arm over her shoulder, but...he's not really sure what they are right now. They're trying to figure each other out—figure themselves out. “I'd like to see this 'rain' that Lance is always talking about.”

“We'll just have to hang out here unless we want to get wet,” he says. “I'm not really sure how this thing takes to water yet.”

He gestures his robot arm as a joke, and she laughs softly. The tension doesn't quite lift from them though.

He lifts his eyes to the sky. The clouds are heavy, hanging low and dark. He can almost see them swelling with the rain, just ready to burst. The sky grumbles softly, and he hears Allura draw in a breath, her eyes widening.

“What was that?” she says.

“It's thunder,” he says. “It means the rain is coming.”

Allura's lips part. The clouds are reflected in her eyes, as though they are pools of still water, glimmering in the sky. When the sky flashes, it makes her eyes glint, and she sits straight up, eyes widening.

“What was _that_?”

“Lightning,” he says, smiling. “There's....static in the air that comes with the rain clouds. It sparks together, and makes electricity in the air. The thunder is the sound of that electricity cracking.”

As if in response, the sky rolls again, and Allura's lips part, her luminous eyes shining with awe.

“It's moving so quickly that the sound comes so long after the light?” she says.

“Yeah,” he says. “I'm...honestly really surprised you didn't have this on Altea.”

She shakes her head, her eyes fixed on the sky. He sees the first drop leave a stain behind on the porch a few feet away from their legs. Another dark circle appears. And another—another. He hears Allura's breath catch as the air fills with a haze of droplets. This is going to be a heavy storm—he hopes the cabin won't leak. The air grays and thickens as rain fills the space, causing the long grasses to bob and jump with each watery strike.

Allura leans forward to the very edge of the seat, her face leaning towards the edge of the porch. She reaches one hand out towards it—she is just barely too far away to touch the spray.

He finds himself smiling at her wonder, and gets up. He takes her outstretched hand.

“Come with me?” he whispers.

Her entire face lights up with the brilliance of a hundred moons. Her fingers twine into his, and he leads her up off the seat, backing into the rain. He is instantly soaked—his bangs plaster to his eyes and he has to shove them back so that he can see her. The minute she steps into the deluge her hair is flattened to her back—she flinches at first when the water hits. It's _cold_ , he thinks, and they're going to have to warm up by the fire after this for a long while if they don't want to catch cold. He wonders if maybe this was a mistake when her skin shudders under his hand.

And then a laugh rolls out of her, echoed by the thunder over head, and she is the one pulling him deeper into the rain soaked meadow. The rain sings around them and a laugh thunders out of him, too, which only makes hers louder and more uncontrollable.

“This is—amazing,” she shouts over the pour of the rain. “This place—your home is beautiful, Shiro!”

He has always been looking towards the sky, the stars, the unknown, the vast expanse of space—he doesn't remember loving this world, he only remembers the desire to get off it.

But here, in the dazzle of her smile, his world is beautiful to him again. His home is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.

She spins in the rain so that her soaked clothes send out a spiral of water. Then with another laugh, she collapses against his chest and he catches her, the two of them nearly toppling over with their giggles.

“Shiro,” she says, almost too quiet for him to hear. “Shiro...do you think...can this be my home now, too?”

Her rainsoaked face stares up at him, luminous and silver edged with rain.

He can't stop himself. He doesn't think she can either.

He cups her face in both hands and then they are pressing their lips into each other, the taste of rain caught between them as they melt together, pouring into each other's arms as though they are the rain themselves.

When they come up for air, still tangled together, his hands caught in her hair as he presses his forehead to hers, he breathes,

“Yes....please. I want to share this with you forever.”

She is the one to kiss him next, and this time, he's not sure the air will ever come into his lungs again.

 


	6. Fantasy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro and Allura exchange quirks about their cultures. But the past is already over--is it time to grasp the future?

She flips the page of the photo album and chuckles in spite of herself.

“You were so cute,” she says, grinning over the top of the book. The blush that dusts his cheeks obscures his scar for a moment, and he rubs the back of his neck.

The cabin is heavy with the scent of yesterday's rain, a soft drip-drip-drip plucking out a tune as droplets fall into a collection of buckets and cups around the room catching the small leaks. Outside, the sky has only just started to appear between the clouds in small patches, brief stretches of light sneaking through the windows and illuminating the dust swirling in the air. She feels cozy under the fluffy shawl wrapped around her shoulders, with the album propped up against her knees.

She smiles as she traces one finger around the photograph of a tiny, child Shiro, his small round face puffed up a bit, as though miffed at the cape and crown he had to wear for the photo.

“What is the costume for?” she asks.

“Halloween,” Shiro says, his lip quirking up on one side in that way she loves, a smile that stays mostly in his eyes. “It's a holiday, sort of. We dress up in costumes and hand out candy.”

“Oh! We had something similar, I think—we called it Mishyan, and we all wore masks so that no one could guess who we were. There were plays and skits from different groups.”

His eyes are warm on her cheeks as he looks up at her, his arms crossed over his knees, and he smiles. It makes her chest flare with warmth that skitters down her arms.

“That sounds beautiful,” he says. “I wish...I could have seen that.”

She feels tears prick at her eyes—but for once, there is no drop in her stomach or twist in her throat. These are happy tears, a nostalgic smile quirking her lips. She rests the album back down on her knees and looks up at the ceiling, the memories twisting around her.

“It was my favorite day, because we could pretend to be anything,” she whispers. “And no one would treat you differently, because no one knew who you were. I'd hide under a monster mask and scare my father.”

She laughs, and the sound doesn't feel twisted or thick for once. A tear rolls down her cheek, but she feels—happy. These are happy memories.

“Tell me about 'Halloween',” she says. “Is it the same?”

“Well, a little, I think,” Shiro says, leaning forward. “It's mostly for kids...they dress up as characters or something. Then they go from house to house and get candy.”

“And you dressed up as a prince?” she teases, pointing at the picture.

He laughs, a breathy, quiet sound, barely more than the sound of the dust.

“I got strong-armed into it,” he says. “I thought I was too old to dress up anymore that year...but my cousins were going to be princesses, and they wanted me to go as Prince Charming with them.”

“Prince Charming?”

“It's a fairy-tale thing—like...like a fantasy? In all the princess stories, there's a Prince Charming that comes to their rescue, from a witch, or a dragon, or something.”

She doesn't understand every one of those words, even her universal translator can't come up with words for things that Altea had no concept of. But there's something fantastical about the words that send a brief, excited shiver down her spine. She closes the album and sets it down against the chair so that she can lean towards Shiro.

“And you didn't want to be their prince for them?” she teases. “You seem like the kind that's always...what was the word? A knight in shining armor?”

He laughs, a little louder this time.

“I didn't get my knight complex until later,” he jokes. “Not until you made me a paladin and let that go to my head.”

She tugs playfully on his bangs and he bats gently at her hand with a laugh.

“You little joker,” she says.

Her hand trails down from his bangs to his face, cupping it with one hand. His hand comes up automatically on top of hers, holding her hand against his cheek. They sit like that for a few moments, only the sound of the water dripping into the buckets in the background.

“Do all princesses on earth have prince charmings, then?” she whispers.

“Some of them don't need one,” Shiro says. “Some of them save themselves.”

“That's....I don't think that's what I was...”

She isn't sure _what_ she's asking, her vision going out of focus as she tries to figure it out.

“On Altea...on Altea our 'fairy stories' had paladins and princesses in them together,” she whispers. “But they'd...rescue each other...and fight together. I always wished....when I was young...that I would have someone fighting at my side too.”

She puts her other hand onto the other side of his face. His face in that moment is the most beautiful that she has ever seen. She slides from the chair so that she's sitting on the floor in front of him, their faces inches apart.

“Shiro,” she whispers, the name tasting sweet on her tongue. “Shiro...I don't want to be alone anymore. I don't want to cry over what I lost anymore.”

“I don't either,” he says. “Allura...”

She closes her eyes and breathes in at the sound of her name on his lips. She feels him press his forehead to hers.

“Allura,” he says again. “I love you.”

The tears roll from her eyes, and she sobs, pressing herself harder against him.

“I love you,” she says. “Will you be my paladin, Shiro? Will you stand next to me? Will you let me stay next to you?”

“If you'll be my princess, then yes...I'll be the paladin fighting at your side forever. As long as you'll have me.”

Their hands found each other's and twisted together as their lips met. Something of the past ended between them. The future and all its fantasies remained between their hands twisted together.

 


	7. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to go back home.

Shiro hefts his bag onto his shoulder as he turns to lock the door behind them. Allura is already standing on the porch, her eyes on the sky as she lets her bag dangle from her fingers.

“They'll be here to pick us back up soon,” she says.

“Yeah,” he says, as he pushes the key back into his pocket. Will he ever come back here again? Or will he go back up into the stars and never come back?

Allura shifts the bag in her fingers, making the fabric stretch. Her eyes glimmer in the reflection of the sky. He knows in a few moments, sooner rather than later, the shadow of the Castle of Lions will appear overhead, and the Black Lion will descend to his call, landing gently among the flowers.

He's not ready to look at the sky yet. He glances instead back towards the house behind them, at the windows drawn over with curtains, hiding the small kitchenette where they laughed over something silly while he tried to open a can of beans. Towards the living room, the couch that they had fallen asleep on next to each other without pulling out the bed one night, waking up in the morning with each other's hair in their faces. The fields where they ran out into the rain together and let it wash away everything. It's only been a week that they've been here together. It feels like years.

This place is peace. To leave it means leaving that peace behind.

When he turns back towards her, she is looking at him now. He can hear the hum of the Castle of Lions just over the mountain ridge, feel the tell-tale breeze as it stirs her hair in waves of platinum.

She smiles. It is, as always, the most radiant thing he has ever seen.

“Thank you for coming with me,” he says.

She twists her hair back behind her ear and he remembers how it looked dripping wet and slumping into her eyes as she laughed like a little girl in the rain, dragging him around in circles under the rumbling sky.

“Thank you for bringing me,” she whispers.

He can see it now, edging its nose into the sky. She turns over her shoulder to see the castle coming for them, before turning back to him.

“They'll ask us so many questions,” she says.

“More than the number of questions they asked about why we were doing this in the first place?”

He steps up onto the porch and looks into the sky. He shakes his head as he sees the twirling shapes of the other four lions flying in a lazy formation around the Castle. Of course they all came out themselves to meet them. They can't sit still for two minutes, those kids.

He finds that he missed them more than he realized until just now. His heart aches to see their grinning faces again and hear their voices tumbling over each other as they all talk at once.

“Well?” he says. “What are we going to tell them when they ask their many, many questions?”

She reaches for his hand, and he meets her halfway without even the barest hesitation. He can feel her fingers in his, even though they're made of metal. For the first time, he doesn't hate his arm. It can still feel her warmth.

“We'll tell them it was very, very relaxing, and we certainly needed it,” she says.

She tilts her head towards Shiro and her hair shifts in metallic waves over her shoulders, a wide, mischievous smile on her face. He already knows she's going for it even before she does, and he just smiles as they both lean in to share a deep, long kiss.

He wonders if the others will land before they're finished with the kiss. What their faces will look like. Keith and Hunk will probably just look at each other, as though they already knew. Pidge will make some sort of gagging sound. Lance will probably freak out. The only one who didn't notice, yet again. He smiles into the kiss, his eyes closing.

They're leaving this place—their time here is ending.

It was time to start again—a new beginning. One with their hands entwined.

 


End file.
